


The Orange Drink

by JHsgf82



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHsgf82/pseuds/JHsgf82
Summary: While sipping an orange drink at a hotel bar, Peeta sees the girl of his dreams.  He may just wind up shocked to find out who she is.Cover edit by:  katnissandpeeta125
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 77





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> *The title is awful, but oh well. Meant to be a drabble but got much, much longer. Inspired by a picture of an orange drink, posted by @elricsister. Thanks! Haha. And thanks to @endlessnightlock for helping me out with the name of the hotel. I was stuck on that!

Peeta sat in the lobby bar of the privately-owned four-star hotel. The Gilded Bird, it was called, a curious, fanciful name, and much more creative than all the others on the block, even in the entire city. While he waited for the man he was meeting, Peeta decided to order a drink. He assumed he wouldn’t mind, considering they were meeting in the bar.

There were two bartenders on duty, one, a man with wavy, bronze hair, who was attending to some females at the bar, and another, a woman, classically beautiful but somehow, not his taste. The woman, whose name tag read ‘Cashmere’‒huh, another interesting name‒approached him and asked what he would like. He smiled and gave her his drink order, surprised to learn that she seemed familiar with it.

A minute or two later, Peeta accepted the salt-lined glass with the wedge of orange and lime, thanked the blonde bartender, and slipped her a generous tip. The ice sloshed around within the glass as he brought it to his lips and took a sip. Although it was a tad sweet, it was mixed well enough. He took another drink then set the glass down. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. The man wasn’t late yet, but he should be here any minute. Just then, someone walked in‒a woman.

But not just any woman, the most beautiful woman Peeta had ever seen. Her skin was olive, and her dark hair was pulled back in a braid. She was dressed in a dark pinstripe, tailored pantsuit. There was something so powerful about her look, and consequently, so sexy, too.

He didn’t have a clue who she was, but in that moment, he was sure he was a goner…

The woman strode with confidence over to the bar and took a seat a couple of stools down from him. Both bartenders took notice of her presence, but it was the man who acted the most familiar with her.

Peeta was trying to be nonchalant; he really was, but he knew he had to be gaping. He turned his head away quickly before she noticed, yet he couldn’t seem to help glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye. He occupied himself with anything he could, sipping at his drink, staring out at the back wall, straightening and brushing invisible lint off his pale blue blazer.

Finally, he gave up and turned toward the woman. She looked over at him, and oh, heaven help him, her eyes were the most incredible shade of gray he’d ever seen. He’d never seen someone with gray eyes before, and hers were absolutely mesmerizing, like the mist just before dawn. It immediately made him want to create.

“Hi,” he offered lamely.

Frowning slightly, the woman gave him a once-over. “Hi,” she finally said, more as question than response.

“Come here often?” Peeta inwardly cringed at the horrible line, but it’d just slipped out. His silver tongue (or so people said) had apparently severely tarnished at the mere sight of her.

The gorgeous woman in the suit quirked a brow. “All the time. And you?”

“First time.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business. What about you?” He flashed her a pearly grin.

“Business. Always business,” she remarked with a slight twitch of the lips.

The male bartender brought her a drink without even asking what she wanted. It was a chocolate substance in a martini glass.

“Chocolate martini?” Peeta asked.

“Yes.”

Peeta nodded, barely restraining himself from making a dumb James Bond comment. But, he liked her drink choice. It gave her character. It seemed to suggest she was a little fancy but also sweet. Or, at least she liked sweet things.

She taste-tested her drink and nodded to the guy behind the bar. Then she turned back to Peeta. “And you…?”

“Peeta,” he inserted.

“Peeta.” She didn’t offer her name. “What are you drinking, then? It’s very colorful.”

Peeta released a short laugh. This girl was growing on him by the second. Like moss. She was like moss. Beautiful, bright green, lively moss. What the hell?

“Yeah, I like orange. It’s my favorite color,” he said.

 _Good one, dummy._  
  
“And that’s how you choose your drinks?” One corner of her lip tilted ever so slightly.

“No.” He chuckled. “It also tastes good. It’s a skinny orange margarita, by the way.” Unwittingly, he ran a finger along the rim of the glass then popped his finger into his mouth to taste the salt. Damn, what was that all about? His flirting just kept getting worse and worse this evening…

Watching him, the gorgeous woman raised a brow. “Skinny?”

“Yeah, I’m watching my figure,” he quipped, giving his stomach a pat. Okay, his flirting wasn’t just bad tonight; it was a complete catastrophe! But the woman seemed at least mildly amused, that is, if her playful little smirk was any indication. She was probably just humoring him.

“So, what do you think of the hotel?” she asked.

“It’s…” He took a look around the bar then glanced back into the immaculate lobby. He hated tearing his eyes away from her, but he wanted to give her a thoughtful response. “Very beautiful. And very clean.”

The beauty smirked again. “Good to know. So, what’s your business here, then?”

Well, at least she still seemed interested in talking to him. Good thing he didn’t say the James Bond thing, and especially not the moss thing. She was far more lovely than moss, anyway.

“Oh. I’m a local artist. Meeting someone to discuss displaying my art here.”

“Really?”

She seemed intrigued. Had that impressed her? Should he play up the angle of his art more?

“Yeah.” He smiled genuinely, pondering what to say next to keep her interest. But then, she got a message and said she had to go. She was already on the phone, giving him a dismissive wave before he could say a word.

Peeta heaved a sigh. Well, he’d royally screwed that one up. Maybe she’d even pretended to get a call just to have an excuse to leave. Peeta cursed under his breath.

Well, that was that. He supposed he should focus on the reason he was here, anyway. He’d barely had the thought when the man he was meeting walked in.

He was a giant man dressed in a designer suit. Peeta feared he was under-dressed by contrast. The man had said business casual, yet he was dressed to the nines.

“Hi. Peeta, right?”

“Yes.” Peeta nodded.

The hulking man stuck his hand out, and Peeta shook it. He had a firm grip. “I’m Thresh. Executive Assistant Manager. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Just call me Thresh,” the man grunted. “We run a tight ship here, but we’re not formal.”

Again, Peeta nodded, and Thresh took a seat beside him. He shot off a drink order to Cashmere, and Peeta let his eyes wander. He noticed that woman lingering in the lobby, chatting with a vivacious blonde woman. Try as he might, Peeta couldn’t help eyeing the dark-haired beauty. But damn it all, he needed to stop and focus. It wouldn’t do to blow this deal for something as ridiculous as being unable to keep his eyes in his head and his attention on the business associate in front of him.

“So, let’s talk about your art…” Thresh looked at Peeta then back over his shoulder to where Peeta’s eyes were trained.

Oh, no. Thresh had noticed Peeta’s gawking and complete disregard for their meeting.

When he turned back, Peeta gave him an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Thresh. You see, this is...kind of embarrassing, but I-well, I met that woman over there before you arrived, and we talked a bit. I think we kind of hit it off, but I didn’t get her name, and I guess,” he ran a hand through his blonde curls, “I guess I’m a little distracted by it.”

Thresh flashed Peeta a toothy smile. “No worries, man. Which woman was it? The blonde or the brunette?”

Peeta grew hopeful. Thresh didn’t seem annoyed, and perhaps he even knew the woman. “The brunette.”

Thresh’s eyes widened a tick, for just a second. “Oh, her? That’s my general manager, Ms. Katniss Everdeen.”

Peeta’s jaw dropped. General Manager?

Oh, just perfect. He’d doubly made a fool of himself. Not only had he acted like an idiot around a beautiful woman, but he’d humiliated himself in front of the hotel’s general manager, who would probably cast the deciding vote on whether or not his art was to be featured here.

Horrified, Peeta considered what had transpired. If she was the General Manager, she must have known who he was the moment he mentioned displaying his art here. So, why didn’t she say anything? Maybe she wanted to see just how much of a jackass he could make of himself while simultaneously figuring out whether he was a poor, starving artist who was thrilled to get an opportunity like this or a complete douche bag who thought his work was above hotel art.

At least this meant he’d have a chance at seeing her again, that is, if she was still willing to take a look at his pieces after that display.

A ding came from Thresh’s pocket just then. Excusing himself, he pulled out his phone and took a look. His brow wrinkled in confusion at the message. He read it again and tucked the phone away.

“Uh, sorry about that, Peeta,” Thresh said, turning back to him. “That was my manager.”

Peeta felt his mouth go dry with panic.

“Well,” Thresh grinned at him, “seems you made some kind of impression on my manager.”

“What?” A smile tugged at Peeta’s lips. Could he possibly mean a good impression?

“Yeah.” Thresh nodded. “She says to bring by some of your pieces tomorrow at 12 PM to show her and also to leave the witty banter behind.”

Peeta forced a laugh.

“She doesn’t normally make remarks like that. Must’ve liked you.”

She liked him? Okay, so maybe Thresh didn’t mean she like-liked him‒sheesh, was he twelve?‒but at least he hadn’t utterly screwed himself over. Yes, he may have embarrassed himself, but at least Ms. Everdeen was willing to give him a chance.

Peeta told himself he should only care about having his art displayed, yet there was another part of him, an eager, hopeful part (the same sappy part that got a little choked up at certain romantic movies) that wondered if perhaps Ms. Everdeen would give him a chance in more ways than one.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In memory of Kika...

It was 11:35 AM, and Peeta sat in the hotel bar where just yesterday he’d met the woman of his dreams. Ms. Katniss Everdeen, General Manager of The Gilded Bird, the one who would determine whether or not his artwork was purchased by the hotel. He’d only discovered who she was after awkwardly flirting with her over drinks at the bar, and he was honestly completely shocked she’d agreed to meet with him today.

If this meeting didn’t go well; if he said something stupid again and screwed it up, he’d probably end up selling his art online for a discounted rate.

Peeta wasn’t exactly a starving artist‒he made a living out of it, and besides, he had some family money tucked aside, which he’d inherited after his father’s death‒but his pieces just hadn’t gained the attention he’d hoped. Or, they’d been forgotten.

As a more robust, younger man in his twenties, Peeta had done a lot of art shows and fairs and promoted himself more. He’d sold many prints over the years, even some more expensive original pieces, and he’d gotten lucky a few times and had his works showcased in galleries. Of course, there was one time when he would’ve made a killing, but the gallery owner had expected him to…well, let’s just say, give favors in exchange for showcasing his art, and that wasn’t something he’d been willing to do.

He didn’t think that was what was happening here, not at all.

Although Thresh had directly said Katniss must have liked him, the woman he’d met seemed to have far too much integrity to proposition him like that. But to be perfectly honest, if she did, he’d be sorely tempted. Oh hell, who was he kidding? He’d probably be doing a happy dance and shouting from the rooftops.

But no. No, he was here on business. He needed to stop thinking with his dick, and like a dick.

Seated in the same spot at the bar, he decided to order a drink, given that he had some extra time, but he fully planned on freshening his breath before meeting with her. Just because it was good manners after drinking alcohol. Not for any other reason.

He ordered his usual, the orange drink Katniss had commented on, and this time, he was served by the guy. The bronze-haired guy, whose name was Finnick, brought his drink, and he slipped him a decent tip. Peeta imagined the guy must do pretty well on tips, because even he, who wasn’t attracted to men, could appreciate his looks.

Peeta sipped at his drink. He’d already been there ten minutes, having arrived pretty early because basically, he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d like to say it was because he was so excited about potentially having his art purchased, but that was only part of it; he was also quite eager to see Ms. Katniss Everdeen again.

He’d barely slept the night before thinking about it, in fact, and he must have tried on 5 or 6 different outfits before landing on the one he wore‒a charcoal gray suit and charcoal and powder blue striped tie. And his hair, well, he’d spent a good 30-40 minutes gelling it back and twisting his curls until they looked just so. It was an important meeting, after all.

Peeta polished off the orange drink. Sloshing the ice around in the empty glass, he took a moment to look around the room, appreciating the subtle charm of Katniss’s hotel. The Gilded Bird was just as clean and elegant as other four-star hotels in the area but not so ostentatious and predictable. It had something of a rustic, old-world feel, definitely an allure all its own.

He set his glass down and glanced toward the entryway, then back to the bartender. “Another one?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” Peeta said. He took another look behind him. That’s when he saw the large executive assistant manager he’d met the day before walking in.

Thresh was wearing another impressive suit, which couldn’t possibly have come from a lowly department store like Peeta’s had. As soon as he saw him, Thresh put on a big smile and strode over.

“There he is,” said Thresh, clapping Peeta on the back like they were old college buddies. “Nice to see you again, man.”

“You, too.” Peeta smiled genuinely. He liked Thresh‒he was like a giant bodyguard or bouncer, only friendly‒and he was confident they’d get on fabulously, that is if he got the gig here.

Peeta and Thresh talked for five or ten minutes about his art and the hotel’s needs, although Thresh informed him that Ms. Everdeen would be making all the decisions and would tell him more about what they were looking for in their meeting. She sure did like arranging these pre-meetings between Thresh and him. He didn’t mind them so much, though. Not long after, Thresh’s phone buzzed, and he assumed it was Katniss Everdeen.

Thresh glanced at it. “Ms. Everdeen will see you now,” he informed.

Peeta glimpsed his watch. Right on schedule. In addition to enjoying her structure, Katniss Everdeen was prompt.

“I’ll show you the way,” Thresh said. And Peeta slung the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and followed the linebacker of a man.

Moments later, they were outside Ms. Everdeen’s office on the 12th floor. The door swung open, and she stepped out. And Peeta’s heart skipped several beats.

Today, she was dressed in more feminine attire, a dark olive, high-waisted pencil skirt, accentuating her slender features nicely and a silky, black blouse. He suddenly felt on fire, his blood shooting straight downward. He took her in completely, appreciatively, from shapely legs to pretty face, finally meeting her steely eyes.

“Mr. Mellark, thank you for coming,” she said with the faintest hint of an upturn to her pale pink lips. “Follow me.”

He nodded dumbly and followed, doing his best to keep his eyes well above the waist as he did, despite the enticing sway of her hips and her tight backside. He felt like such a perv. He wasn’t usually like this.

It was tough to take his eyes off Katniss-Miss Everdeen, but Peeta managed to look around her office as she ushered him in. The room was slightly differently than the rest of the hotel, though it seemed to fit with the overall scheme; he assumed the entire place had felt her touch. Her office was modest, the decor sparse, which was surprising for such a high-powered executive type like her. At least, that was the vibe she gave off, but he suspected she was a simple girl, perhaps even a country girl, at heart. And it wasn’t just the rustic theme of her office that made him think so, but something in her eyes and subtle mannerisms.

They stood before a set of two green armchairs. Her desk was large, made of wood, probably mahogany, not polished or standard but older-looking rather, even having some nicks in it. Perhaps it’d been handmade.

“I suppose I should introduce myself officially. Katniss Everdeen,” she said, extending her dainty hand to him. He took it, encompassing it.

He couldn’t help but notice the vast difference in size and temperature of their hands, his being larger and warmer, hers smaller and colder. But he enjoyed the idea of warming her hand as well as the frisson of heat and energy that spread throughout his body to the tips of his being.

She gave his hand a firm, slightly extended shake then pulled away, and he reluctantly let go of her hand. She asked him to shut the door and have a seat. He slipped into the green armchair on the right; it was solid, not overly soft but just soft enough. He gripped the arms of the chair to ground himself. At least she’d gone around her desk and settled into her chair, so there was no temptation to stare at her ass. However, she seemed to be appraising him now, a single finger resting against her lips, and even that little gesture was highly distracting.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Miss Everdeen,” he began formally, making sure to look her in the eyes and not south of there.

“Katniss,” she corrected.

“Katniss.” The word rolled pleasantly off his tongue, and he smiled, hoping she would, too. But her expression was serious. As it should be, he supposed. This was a business meeting, after all, not a flirt session. He’d keep that in mind every time he got the urge to say something ‘witty or charming,’ for he’d clearly been told to leave the banter at home.

He wondered if she’d mention their encounter from yesterday, but she got straight down to business. “So, you brought your portfolio?”

“Uh, yes.” He reached down to flip open the flap of his orange and black messenger bag, and he pulled out his portfolio.

Bound in heavy-duty brown leather and lined with thick sketch and watercolor pages as well as an accordion-style document holder, the portfolio had been a gift from his late father. Inscribed in the front cover was the famous quote from Auguste Rodin: “The main thing is to be moved, to love, to hope, to tremble, to live.” Peeta loved that line, although his favorite part of the portfolio was the message from his father, hidden behind a small flap. He leaned forward to hand the book to Katniss.

“So, uh,” He cleared his throat, “I’ve included some of my watercolors, charcoal, and sketches, but I also have oil paintings. I stuck in some photographs of those since they were too large and delicate to bring here.”

Katniss nodded, and she opened the book, spreading it out across her desk. For a moment, she focused on the inside cover then moved on to flip through the portfolio. He watched the expression on her face change as she flipped through, taking on various emotions. At times, she appeared curious, intrigued; others, she seemed almost melancholy.

Feeling the need to break the silence a little, “I can tell you appreciate fine art, Katniss,” Peeta said. He had noticed some of the quality prints around the hotel, and a couple of originals. “That’s not to say I’m a fine artist. I’m relatively unknown, and I don’t know that my stuff will be to your liking, but I…”

“I don’t care about that,” she cut him off. “How popular you are. All I care about is the quality of the work. And…” She absently drummed her fingers against her desk. “I can tell you have passion for what you do. You care about it.” She met his eyes. “I’d rather work with someone like that than a dozen ‘famous’ artists.”

Peeta beamed.

This woman was incredible.

She continued flipping through his life’s work, occasionally mentioning she liked one or saying how it might work in a specific spot in the hotel. She came to one and stopped.

“This one of the sunset over the beach…,” she began, holding up the photograph of it. He waited for her appraisal because her face had taken on an unreadable expression. “You know, people always joke about hotel art, how it’s boring or tacky or has no depth…”

Oh great. Was she going to say so about his work? He supposed many people painted sunsets; it was kind of a common, even cliché, subject, but he loved them so, and he’d tried to put a different spin on it.

He held his breath for her response.

“I think it’s great,” she finally said, still closely examining it.

Peeta let out a relieved sigh.

“I like how you’ve painted it from a completely different angle, and the perspective of it…the items in the background, the detail… I’m no art critic, and I don’t know why, exactly, but…I see…hope in this painting.”

He grinned. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”

“I’d love to see the real thing.”

And he’d love to show her. He’d love to take her to his apartment and show her everything…

Peeta shook off such thoughts. “Yes, of course. I could arrange that.”

She nodded and continued perusing the portfolio. When her brow furrowed up, he knew the ones she’d arrived at.

“Uh, I’d like to point out that some of them are just examples of what I can do with various mediums. I know they may not all be appropriate for the hotel, but I can create anything you want, really, any subject, in those styles.”

Katniss faintly muttered assent while closely studying one in particular. She seemed engrossed in it. He craned his neck slightly to see which.

She was, of course, looking through the graphic series of of sketches (and paintings) he’d done, which he’d included, like he told her, as examples of what he was capable of with different mediums. Some of them were sexual in nature, though not explicit. He recognized when Katniss came across one of those without looking because her cheeks would tinge pink. There were some who might think her pure for this, but he thought she was perfect.

Other works of his were of a violent nature. He’d been physically abused by his mother and lost a leg in a traffic accident as a teen, and he’d suffered nightmares from all of it. His therapist had suggested he work with his hands to occupy his mind. He loved baking, but that reminded him too much of his mother at the time, and so, he tried art.

He’d started out creating beautiful things, the reality he wanted, but it wasn’t helping. And so, he began sketching and painting the nightmares raging in his head. Getting them down on paper or canvas was his way of both banishing them from his mind and confronting them. It didn’t always work, but it was a useful strategy, overall.

Honestly, Peeta was shocked with himself for deciding to show her, but he didn’t want to hide anything about himself any longer. From anyone. Least of all, from her.

If she was going to invest in his art, in him, and especially if she could possibly like him someday‒wishful thinking, perhaps‒he wanted her to know all his flaws, the good and the bad.

And he might as well be upfront from the start. He’d learned this lesson the hard way. He absolutely hated getting into the midst of a relationship only for the girl to decide she couldn’t deal with his past demons or his missing leg, and dump him.

Peeta swallowed the knot in his throat, explaining succinctly how many of those hold personal meaning for him. He noticed this seemed to affect her, but she didn’t appear disgusted with him. There was compassion in her eyes, but no pity.

When he asked her what she honestly thought of them, she told him she hated them. But only because they were so extraordinary, and of course, because she knew the meaning behind them.

She was almost through the portfolio when she stopped abruptly. Her silver eyes flashed, not with anger but intrigue. She stared at the sketch another moment before turning the portfolio around and sliding it toward him.

_Oh, shit._

_How did that one get in there?_

He’d sketched it out last night when he couldn’t get Katniss Everdeen out of his head, and nothing else was working. He must have slipped it into the portfolio by mistake.

Well, that did it. He was toast now.

Katniss sucked in a breath, and she folded her hands up neatly before finally speaking. “This is me.”

“Ah, yes.” What was the use in denying it?

He waited for her to become furious and have him thrown out of her hotel. He imagined the hulking Thresh picking him under the arms and tossing him into the street, or perhaps the dumpster out back.

But she simply continued staring at the sketch, saying nothing, doing nothing. It was driving him crazy.

“Uh, listen,” he finally spoke, rubbing the back of his neck, which was becoming a little moist. “I’m sorry. That one, I…I didn’t really…”

“Mean for it to be included,” she finished his sentence for him.

He bobbed his head up and down. “I just…couldn’t sleep last night, and I got inspired, and when inspiration strikes I have to just go with it, but sometimes my hand has a mind of its own and…” He inwardly cringed at what he was saying, and at the rambling way in which he was saying it. He cut himself off.

“Do you like it?” he asked after a moment of silence. He was pushing it a little, but he truly wanted to know.

“I can’t put art of me up in the hotel I manage” was her response.

That surprised him. A man she’d met only yesterday had just revealed a sketch he’d done of her and she wasn’t railing on him for it. Instead, she was casually commenting on displaying it. At least it was a tasteful sketch.

“Well, you could.” He grinned, hoping to lighten the mood. “Just call it… ‘Woman In Bar.’”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the sketch. “It’s far too pretentious to have something like this on display, and I’m not…” She stopped speaking and took a long, hard look at the drawing. He noticed the corners of her mouth crinkling slightly.

“You don’t hate it?” He ventured.

Rapidly, she shook her head. “Not at all.” She raised her eyes to look at him.

“And you’re not…offended?”

“Why would I be? It’s incredible. You made me look…beautiful.”

“You are.” He thought he’d caught himself before he said it aloud, but turns out, the words had slipped.

“Are you hitting on me?” she asked.

She was blunt, wasn’t she? But truth be told, he had been, too. Also, she should have added ‘again’ to that question.

Peeta chuckled. “Well, now, Ms. Everdeen, I already tried that. And I made an ass of myself.”

She pressed her lips together then smiled faintly. “You didn’t make an ass of yourself.”

“Really?”

She shook her head. “I thought you were…,” she considered her words a moment as she flipped her braid over her shoulder, “funny. And charming, to be honest.”

Peeta’s smile nearly split his face, but that was only the half of it. Inside, he was bursting. He reminded himself to keep his cool a little while longer. Once outside the hotel, he could holler or jump up and down pumping his fist or swing around a lamppost if he wanted, but not now.

Toning down his expression, he told her, “You can have it if you want.”

“I couldn’t…”

“No, please.”

She seemed to give up fighting. “Okay,” she said with a small smile. She exhaled, her eyes flitting to the picture frame on her desk, then back up to him. “Well, I think I’ve seen all I need to.”

Well, huh. That was abrupt. And it didn’t sound at all good.

Katniss stood, and he rose along with her. She walked around her desk and reached out to shake his hand again. “Nice to meet you, Peeta Mellark,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Katniss Everdeen.” He smiled at her, although he was afraid. Afraid he’d ruined his second chance with her, afraid he’d never see her again. And a split-second into the handshake, he was already dreading the moment he’d have to let go…

* * *

Peeta had been trying extremely hard to remain professional with Katniss, but over the past two weeks, it’d become increasingly difficult. She’d rooted herself deep within his mind and his heart, her essence having worked its way into his very soul, and it seemed there was no getting her out.

At least he had his art to occupy him. He supposed it was a better use of his hands than other things…

He was frustrated, sure, but the situation could be much, much worse…

***

When he was leaving her office that day, he’d been sure that was it. Until she’d asked for his phone number. And not just his, but she’d wanted to exchange numbers. She’d given him her personal cell, too.

Peeta had tried not to get his hopes up, but failed miserably. He’d told himself he’d wait for her to contact him, though. And so, he’d spent two days practically roped to his phone, willing her to call or message him, barely restraining himself from doing so.

When she finally did, he thought he might explode.

Katniss explained she’d been very busy; she detailed the pieces she was interested in for the Gilded Bird, and she asked him to drop by tomorrow and have lunch with her at the hotel in order to discuss everything further.

He met her there. This time, there was no pre-meeting with Thresh. Just her. Looking stunning in a bright yellow dress.

Lunch was perfect.

What started out as a business meeting, discussing art and deadlines, soon became much friendlier. They laughed and talked about many things for nearly two hours, and she even shyly touched his hand or arm several times.

And that evening, she messaged him.

***

From then on, they’d spoken almost every night, usually about logistical things for the hotel and through messaging because Katniss was one busy, busy, busy lady. But at least he was having contact with her. And he would take what he could get.

Slowly, their chats grew longer and about other topics unrelated to business. They began superficial, with favorite colors and foods and random hypothetical questions, but eventually, she opened up more. Even a little about her family. He knew she was trying to keep things professional between them, but there was not much business left to be done.

He bode his time, and when their business transaction was completed, he expressed his interest in being her friend. Truthfully, he wanted so much more than that, but one has to start someplace. And Katniss was shy. If it made her more comfortable just being friends, he would do that for her.

She happily accepted his friendship, though she warned him she wasn’t good at making friends.

Despite Katniss’s initial shyness and what she’d said, their talks grew increasingly flirtatious, even bordering on sexual. At some point, they’d crossed that invisible border between friends and something more, though they’d never discussed it nor clearly defined what they were. He thought it was heading somewhere; although, he couldn’t be sure. It was maddening.

But overall, he couldn’t be happier with how things were going.

Well, maybe he could be…

Peeta was fairly certain he was falling in love with Katniss Everdeen. Or, he already had long ago but had failed to acknowledge it. Either way, he desperately wanted to ask her on a date.

Finally, he worked up the nerve to ask if she’d allow it. And she said she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s Part 2. Hopefully, there aren’t too many errors. I was scrambling to finish in time. I have written some of the date and a better ending, so I may be doing a brief epilogue, but I, at least, wanted to get this part out for Prompts in Panem’s tribute to Kika.

**Author's Note:**

> May continue if there's interest and inspiration.


End file.
